


You almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Books) [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Geraskier Week, Geraskier Week 2020, Prompt Fill, The Last Wish (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22606657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: “You had to flee from Gulet as fast as your horse could carry you because the girl you’d knocked up under the musicians’ podium had four sturdy brothers. They were looking for you all over town, threatening to geld you and cover you in pitch and sawdust. That’s why you hung onto me then.”[Geraskier Week: Day One Soulmates]
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Books) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624276
Comments: 13
Kudos: 116





	You almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion

**Author's Note:**

> Dandelion and Geralt's meeting in the books was different from how they met in the show.

Festivals weren’t something that Geralt usually frequented.

It wasn’t that he had anything against them, just that he found them a waste of time and coin when he had contracts to find and complete. But, since he’d been in the area, he couldn’t resist attending the fete where he might find something to eat (or a job, if he was very lucky).

Although there were no jobs to be had, Geralt had a hard time being too upset. He had enough coin to enjoy himself, wandering among the stalls and munching on a snack.

There was a singer on the musician’s podium, warbling on about soulmates and romance, strumming a lute. Geralt stopped and snorted, studying the man. He had shoulder-length blond hair that he had curled with irons and perched atop his head was a hat with an egret’s feather. Pairing that with his finely made clothes it was evident he wasn’t a local.

The Witcher supposed he must be looking at a bard who had come in for the festival. It was said that there was to be many famous musicians attending. With a snort and a shake of his head, Geralt wandered off in search of food.

There was plenty to be had, and he spent a decent amount of time wandering the stalls, picking up little treats here and there until he felt full. The townsfolk and festival-goers seemed happy enough to ignore him, for which he was grateful. Then he set about wandering the festival, keeping an ear out for anyone who might need a Witcher.

Geralt wrinkled his nose. Pitch tar, usually used for waterproofing on boats and buckets, had a very distinct odor, one that he was surprised to find in the middle of a town on festival day. Following his nose, he found two barns beside one another, with an alley between them. One was large and painted red, the other, slightly shorter and stained brown.

“There’s been a misunderstanding!” wailed a lyrical voice. “Oh please, I- I- oh!”

Geralt rounded the corner.

A rather bruised and familiar man was tied on the side of the smaller barn, his wrists trapped above his head. His shirt was rumbled and muddied, his curled blonde hair had fallen into disarray, framing an elfin face that was full of fear and streaked with tears. Geralt recognized him as the man who had been singing about soulmates and true love.

Four men stood in the alley with him, and while the captive was finely dressed, they were clearly from the local peasantry. They had two buckets of pitch, which explained the smell, and a bucket of sawdust.

The attackers had stripped the man of his pants, and two of them were trying to grab his legs, no doubt somehow involving the rather nasty shears that one of them was carrying. Thankfully for the poor man, his long shirt, with no pants to hold it, fell nearly to his knees.

The trapped man saw the Witcher first. “Help!” he sobbed, kicking his feet. “Help me, good sir!”

“What’s this?” Geralt asked curiously.

“This whoreson raped our sister!”

The bound man struggled. “I did no such thing!” he sobbed. “I shall confess that I bedded your sister, surely, but forced her? I, Dandelion, the great- oomph!” A punch to the stomach from one of his attackers silenced him.

“You intend to tar and feather him?” Geralt asked, glancing at the buckets. Although, perhaps _‘tar and sawdust’_ would be more apt.

“Aye, Witcher,” said the man who’d landed the blow. “After we geld him, so he can’t knock up no more women.”

Dandelion - which might be the most amusing name Geralt had ever heard - lifted his head. “Please, my good men, I won’t trouble your town anymore-”

“Hit him again,” Geralt said softly, as one of the men made to strike the captive, “and I’ll cover you in your own pitch.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Witcher,” the man snarled.

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

Poor Dandelion was staring at him pleadingly, with wide cornflower blue eyes, full of fright. He supposed he could turn around and leave, but what then? They’d rip off the man’s balls (and his cock too, most likely) and cover him in scalding tar. He’d possibly die from the torment, and be horribly disfigured if he survived. And Geralt would be close enough to hear the screams. But what was his other option? Stabbing them?

“You’re right,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “But it will take me ten minutes to get out of earshot. If you start in on him sooner than that, I’ll come back and flog you all with my riding crop.”

The captive sniffled. “Oh, please!”

“You might gag him,” Geralt suggested. “Or the local constabulary might come investigating.”

Dandelion sobbed as a rope was forced into his mouth and Geralt turned and left him to the tormentors. But he doubled back, clamored onto the roof of the taller barn, and shimmed across the wooden shingles on his stomach. It was exactly what he’d planned, since he was incapable of leaving someone in such a sorry state.

He peered over the edge of the barn, where the four men were pacing impatiently, Dandelion still whimpering and tied to the wall. As he’d hoped, one of them carried the pitch into the larger barn, no doubt to keep it hot over a fire. Geralt surveyed them, studying the knots they’d tied Dandelion with. He took a rock he’d picked up and threw it, letting it bounce some distance away.

He’d learned to throw and disguise his voice to confused monsters, but it worked well enough on the men, who heard what seemed to be the arrival of curious parry goers. Two of them went out to investigate.

That left only one still in the alley with Dandelion.

Geralt watched as he stepped toward the captive, and snarled “Whore.” He kicked him between the legs and the bard yelped around his gag.

Geralt jumped down, landing behind the man, he caught him in the back of the head with a sharp blow from his elbow. Dandelion’s eyes widened at the sight of him. He used a knife to quickly saw through the ropes on his wrists, then grabbed him and drug him forward, grabbing what appeared to be the man’s pants from a pile on the ground.

“Put these on, and hurry.”

Dandelion stopped pulling at his gag, trying to remove it, and grabbed his pants instead, jerking them on quickly. Then he grabbed his boots, but before he could try to put them on, Geralt grabbed his hand and drug him away, shoving him ahead. “Run.”

Dandelion didn’t have to be told twice, and bolted back in the direction of town. Geralt checked to see that they weren’t being followed, then hurried after him. He caught up with him not far away, pulled the gag off, and then drug him to the inn, up the stairs, and into the room he’d rented.

“Oh!” Dandelion gasped, leaning against the door with a gasp. “I cannot thank you enough Sir- er Witcher?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” he said, pushing the man aside to bolt the door.

“I thought I was certainly done for!” the man said, sinking to the ground and shaking slightly. “Oh Sir Geralt-”

“Just Geralt.” He paused, then glanced down at the rather sorry man on the floor. “Are you well?”

“Me? Oh I’m wonderful! Far better than I expected to be, all things considered! I thought you meant to leave me to those men-”

“I had to get rid of them.”

“I see that now. It was brilliant, I tell you, simply brilliant!”

Geralt wasn’t certain what to say to that. “You can stay here for a few hours,” he said. “Compose yourself. I’ll stay in the lobby until-”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!”

“I’m a Witcher,” Geralt reminded him. “People don’t want me in a small room with them, unless they’ve been paid to be there.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a mutant.”

Dandelion shrugged. “I’ll go if it pleases you, but- oh dear- do you suppose they’re looking for me?”

Geralt glanced out the window. “They are.”

Dandelion swore softly. “Well, Geralt,” he said suddenly. “Have you ever considered having a traveling companion? I have to leave rather more quickly than I’d anticipated, you see.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Dandelion] “Do you remember? We met at the fete in Gulet and you persuaded me-”
> 
> [Geralt] “You persuaded me! You had to flee from Gulet as fast as your horse could carry you because the girl you’d knocked up under the musicians’ podium had four sturdy brothers. They were looking for you all over town, threatening to geld you and cover you in pitch and sawdust. That’s why you hung onto me then.”
> 
> [Dandelion] “And you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.”
> 
> The Last Wish (page 187)


End file.
